


Amateur Dramatics

by Catsafari



Category: The Wind in the Willows - Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows - Stiles/Drewe/Grahame
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Gilbert and Sullivan, RUGSS, Theatre AU, and some calling out of Toad, but also could be read as shippiness, just good fluffy rat and mole interactions, pirates of penzance - Freeform, riverbank ultimate gilbert and sullivan society, technically platonic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-19
Updated: 2020-12-19
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:27:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,354
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28169223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catsafari/pseuds/Catsafari
Summary: The Riverbank Ultimate Gilbert & Sullivan Society (RUGSS) is rehearsing for Pirates of Penzance, and Rat is fully expecting it to be the same as every other year – until a box of chocolates appears in his tech booth. Theatre AU.
Relationships: Mole & Rat (Wind in the Willows)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 7





	Amateur Dramatics

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Apparently, if you throw a bunch of theatre nerds together, you eventually end up with a communal theatre AU for your… theatre show fandom. (Who'd have thunk it?) Shout out to jeremystollemyheart and thescarletpaperback for letting me borrow their ideas, and for enabling and encouraging this AU. This is just one ficlet idea based around this concept and everyone is welcome to come play in this sandpit as they see fit :)
> 
> Quick world-setting note: This is set in the same kind of world as WITW, but if the plot never happened – so everyone is still animals (of an indiscernible size), and I'm playing fast and loose with the technology here. You didn't come to a WITW theatre fanfic for its historical accuracy anyway, did you?

The Riverbank Ultimate Gilbert & Sullivan Society (known affectionately as RUGSS) was not what many would call a large society. In fact, a majority of the off-stage roles were precariously shared with the on-stage roles, requiring some considerable dexterity when the make-up team also consisted of the lead soprano and the director had been strong-armed into the Pirate King role. To be exact, about the only backstage jobs that couldn't be outsourced to performance roles were the band (officially called the Orchestra) and the tech crew and Rat (sole member of the tech crew) was quite happy with that.

Rat had been the tech crew for several years now (ever since a mislaid comment to Mrs Otter regarding some prior experience had landed him the task) and he had decided it suited him quite well. It was removed enough from the on-stage drama that he didn't get entangled in it (just shouted from afar occasionally) but close enough that he could watch the chaos from a nice safe distance. It was a cosy, anonymous role that, despite being a familiar face on the riverbank, he was fairly certain most of the cast wouldn't be able to select him out as the techie in a line up.

Or so he had thought.

For when he walked into the tech booth a week before rehearsals gave way to opening night, there in pride of place on the sound desk was a box of chocolates.

A note was tied atop it.

 _To the tech crew_ , it read, _for all your hard work._

Rat turned the note over in his paws, but there was no signature, no name to indicate the giver. He turned it back around but (shockingly) the message hadn't changed. There was just that same scratchy handwriting, perfectly legible if a little angular, staring up at him.

He rotated it a few more times anyway, just for good measure.

Eventually, when it became quite clear no more information was going to be forthcoming, he descended to the make-up room (technically the corridor between dressing rooms) to where Mrs Otter and her daughter, Portia, were on standby.

"Maybe you have a secret admirer!" Porta called when the situation was explained.

Her mother tapped her sharply. "Don't tease the poor animal," she scolded.

"I _could_ have a secret admirer," Rat protested, not entirely enamoured with the concept (this was just the kind of drama he usually kept out of) but feeling vaguely insulted by Mrs Otter's quick dismissal all the same.

"I'm sure you could, pet," she replied tactfully, "but I wouldn't take those chocolates as proof." She reached around her daughter and fetched a very familiar-looking box from the dressing table. She paused, then rattled it. "Portia, have you already eaten all the chocolates?"

"Of course not, Mum. See, I left some for everyone else."

"That doesn't feel like only a quarter have gone."

"I'm not good at maths."

"Only when it suits you, you're not," Mrs Otter grumbled, but she passed over the box to Rat. "One of the principals has been handing out thank-you sweets to all the backstage hands, make-up team included. Paws off, Portia. You've already had more than your fair share."

"Oh." Rat picked at the lid and, sure enough, there sat a very similar card scribed in that same neat, if scratchy writing: _To the make-up team for all your hard_ work. He returned it to Mrs Otter. "Which principal?" he asked. It was unlikely to be Toad, and Badger was too busy juggling directing and Pirate Kinging to spend time on delivering gifts. Anyway, he knew both of their handwriting.

"Which principal, Portia?" Mrs Otter repeated.

"The new one."

"What new one?" Rat asked.

"Uh, Mole, I think?"

"Frederic?"

"That's him."

Rat cast his mind back to the last rehearsal and recalled the soft-spoken mole who had landed the lead romantic role, and filed the information under 'surprising but not unbelievable'. He had yet to meet the animal in person, but from the way he flustered whenever he slipped up, Rat could well believe he would do his best to endear himself to the rest of the crew. He was gently flattered that the tech department had been considered, given that his role usually flew over most animals' heads.

And that was that conundrum solved, Rat thought. Now the only other dilemma left was how to keep Toad from gratuitously improvising whenever he felt he could improve upon the play. Either Rat or Badger were going to haul Toad off the stage one of these days, and he wasn't the only one under that impression if the unofficial betting pool was anything to go by.

He leant over the sound desk as Toad careened off to the left in a fit of ad-libbing, and hollered, "Toad, if you step off your mark again, so help me I will sew you to the damn stage!"

"But Ratty, it looks better this way!"

"It'll look like nothing at all if I can't get the spotlight to follow you!"

Toad scowled, but under threat of losing his precious limelight, receded back to his mark.

"Thank you," Rat muttered. He reset the lights to pre-improvisation and waited for the scene to pick back up. In the intervening chaos, he could see the animal playing Frederic – Mole – pat Toad's shoulder and offer words that sounded suspiciously like, "There, there. _I_ thought it was very good."

"Enabler," Rat murmured, but without too much conviction. It was difficult to feel too much animosity to Mole when he was still working through the box of chocolates he'd provided. Either way, his attention moved back to Toad and all capacity for irritation was monopolised by the amphibian as Toad confidently departed from the script. Again.

Rat decided to let Badger deal with the transgression this time. Even so, he was still recovering from the headache the next day as he arrived for rehearsals (coffee cup in paw and reminding himself he volunteered for this because he enjoyed it) when he noticed the tech booth was already occupied. He sped up, well-earned fury already rolling through him. "Toad, if you're messing with the buttons again, I swear–"

He stopped cold.

In the booth was not Toad of Toad Hall, lead comic baritone and chaos incarnate, but a small portly mammal.

Mole.

At the halted accusation, Mole jumped back from the soundboard and nearly fell over the chair. "I'm sorry! I didn't press anything, I promise – I was just looking!" He glanced sheepishly back at the desk, and part of Rat wondered if that would be true if he had arrived five minutes later. "I thought I might be able to guess what the buttons do, but none of them are labelled."

"I've never had any need to label them when it's just me working them," Rat said, somewhat nonplussed after having his anger derailed by anybody but Toad invading his space.

Mole glanced about, as if suddenly taking note of the singular animal. "It's just you?" he echoed.

"Just me."

There was a dubious silence as both animals waited for the conversation to move along. Eventually, Rat caved to the burning curiosity. "Pardon me, but are you… lost?"

"Is this the tech booth?"

Rat only just managed to curb the scathing reply concerning Obvious Things, although he felt his brow raise regardless. "I hope so, otherwise I'm the one who's lost."

Mole grinned, and Rat felt relieved he'd kept his tongue. "Then I'm exactly where I want to be. I'm sorry for just now – I didn't mean to startle you, it's just I've never seen any of the tech animals out and about so I thought I'd drop by." Mole hesitated. "Or tech animal, apparently." He offered a paw. "I'm Mole."

Rat managed to keep the "I know" reply under wraps, but only barely. He thought better of bringing up how he'd been nosing around ever since the chocolates had arrived. He opted instead to take the proffered paw and give a lopsided smile in return. "I go by Rat. You're the new lead, aren't you?"

"So everyone keeps telling me."

"The real question is _what_ are you? Kidnapee or volunteer?"

"Pardon?"

"Did you come willingly or did Badger overhear you singing one day and sign you up?"

"Oh. No, I… I auditioned." Mole looked bashful over the incident. "Last winter the fieldmice mentioned the society during their carol singing and I thought it'd be worth a try. I expected to be relegated to the chorus, I didn't think I'd actually…" He shook his head. "Anyway, here I am."

"Here you are."

There was a pause in which both animals seemed to consider that 'here' currently consisted of the tiny tech booth.

"Hey, I should probably thank you–" Rat began.

"RATTY, WHERE IS MY SPOTLIGHT?"

Mole jumped at the disgruntled roar emanating from the stage and sidled round to the door. "And that's my cue to leave. Sorry, I didn't mean to distract you from… anyway, I'll let you get on." He glanced guilty to the now tepid coffee in Rat's paws. "Oh, your drink's gone cold–"

"It's fine–"

"RATTY!"

Rat briefly closed his eyes, thinking several ungenerous things about Toad's timing, and offered a tired smile. "I'd better give Toad his spotlight before he combusts, but it was nice to meet you, Mole."

"Likewise."

x

And that, Rat had been sure, was that. With Mole's curiosity regarding the tech crew sated, he fully expected the principal to return his attention to the play and Rat could get back to fighting with Toad over correct mark placement. But then there came a tap at the tech booth door during the next rehearsal and Mole stood in the entrance with mug in paw.

"I thought I'd best bring you some coffee to make up for your last one going cold," Mole said by way of explanation. "Given that I distracted you from your last drink."

"Ah, you really didn't need to. I was as much the culprit as you."

"So… you _don't_ want this coffee?"

"Heavens, yes."

Mole passed across the mug with a smile that betrayed the teasing note in his previous question. "Thank goodness, because I don't know what I would have done with it otherwise. I'm not really one for coffee."

Rat spluttered at the coffee's bitter taste and had to fight to keep the wince at bay. "You don't say," he wheezed, and tried to casually set the mug to one side. "Well, whatever you do, don't pass any onto Toad. That amphibian has all the energy he needs, and then some."

Mole chuckled. "Yes, I had noticed that he seems rather…"

"Full of himself? Egotistical? Madder than a box of frogs?"

"I was going to say enthusiastic."

"That's one way of putting it."

Mole chuckled again, and gestured loosely to the corridor behind him. "Anyway, I should be getting back – it'll be my cue any moment now and Mr Badger seems quite strict about being on time–"

"I wouldn't stress over it. It'll be a little while before they reach your entrance."

"I _am_ due later in this scene–"

"Sure you are, but they're not quite there yet." Rat kicked back against the chair and waited for the inevitable. "Watch for it. Three… Two… One…"

As if scripted, one of the beach balls the chorus was throwing between them sailed clear of one 'daughter' and bounced merrily wayward into the orchestra pit. A bubble of hysterical laughter rose from the chorus while the music director yelped something about being unable to work under such conditions.

"Cor, how did you know that was going to happen?" Mole exclaimed.

"I remember the last time we did Pirates of Penzance, and the beach balls were a menace back then too," Rat said, quite pleased with himself. "I reckon you have five minutes while they retrieve the ball, and another ten while Badger gives a lecture on proper prop safety. In the meantime, why don't you sit down instead of loitering in the doorway…" With a jolt of surprise that he had never noticed it before, Rat realised there was only a single seat in the tech booth.

Mole noticed the discrepancy only a moment after Rat. "It's no hassle – I should probably let you get on with your… teching, anyway–"

"There's not much to do in the way of 'teching,'" Rat echoed with a smile, "while nothing's happening on stage. And I don't believe I ever thanked you for the chocolates you left me."

"I wouldn't exactly thank me for them. They were meant to be bribery."

Rat laughed. "I'd find that a lot more believable if you had signed the note."

"Oh." Mole made a face that made it quite clear this hadn't occurred to him.

Rat decided to keep the conversation along before Mole could become too distracted by this misstep. "What would you need to bribe anyone for, anyway?"

"Their patience?" Mole offered. "Especially since I keep losing the buttons for the Frederic jacket, and I'm fairly certain the chocolates are the only reason the wardrobe animals haven't told me to sew them back on myself. And I'm putting my face in Mrs Otter's paws every time she gets the show make up out. She could make me look like anything she wanted. I feel a bit of bribery there is worth it to keep me on her good side."

"Mrs Otter wouldn't do that." Rat considered. "Not to _you_ , anyway. Toad, on the other paw…"

"Mr Toad doesn't seem all that bad," Mole said. "His heart is in the right place."

"His heart is fine. It's his ego that's the problem." The energy on stage shifted, and Rat peered over the desk. "Oh, looks like Badger has finished his lecture. You'd best bead off before you miss your cue and give him another topic to start on."

"Good point." Still, Mole lingered by the door. His attention roamed to the wide window overlooking the auditorium. "You get an awfully good view of the stage from here."

"I have to, otherwise Toad'll never get his precious spotlight."

Mole chuckled, but half-heartedly as if his mind were on other things. "You… you wouldn't mind if I dropped by again, would you?"

"Mind? Of course not. Drop by whenever you like."

Mole beamed then. He hesitated for only a moment longer, as if on the verge of saying something else, but then the music began and he shook his head and scurried back towards the stage.

And, for some reason or another, even Toad's usual antics couldn't ruin the good mood that settled over Rat for the rest of the evening's rehearsal.

x

"Rat, what _are_ you doing with that chair?"

Midway up the stairs, Rat froze, seat in paw. He glanced at it and then at Badger. "I'm borrowing it," he said, somewhat surprised as if this were the first time he had properly considered his actions.

"Why? Has yours broken?"

"Not entirely…"

"Not entirely _how_?"

"As in not at all?" Rat ventured.

Badger looked at him.

"I just thought it might be nice to have an extra seat in the tech booth," Rat elaborated, "as, uh, a spare surface."

Badger considered this with weary eyes as if, somehow, this was a problem he was familiar with. Then he harrumphed and turned away. "Just make sure everyone gets to their cues on time, that's all I ask."

Rat decided against asking just what Badger was implying.

X

Once was a happenstance. Twice was a coincidence. Thrice and it was fast becoming a habit. And yet, he couldn't find it in himself to be surprised when Mole appeared in the doorway between the first and second acts.

 _One would hope not_ , his mind supplied, _after dragging that chair all the way up from the dressing rooms_.

This time Mole had arrived armed with two mugs. "I never see you backstage or in the bar during breaks," he said as he passed one across. "I thought you might be lacking in the beverage department."

"Just a little bit." Rat took the drink and tried to subtly sniff it. It certainly smelt like coffee this time.

"Oh, Mrs Otter made that one," Mole said. He looked sheepish. "Apparently the coffee she saw me attempt would have been nigh undrinkable."

"Hm," Rat said tactfully.

"Was it?"

"It was…" and Rat did his best to aim for a kind truth, "a smidgen bitter."

"Well then, why didn't you say so?" Mole asked, visibly peeved.

"It was such a nice gesture, I didn't want to turn it down. Come on; sit down otherwise you'll be back on stage before you've had a chance to rest."

Mole perched on the edge of the new chair, and Rat realised Mole was a little shorter than he had estimated, for the other animal's legs swung from the seat.

"Why don't you come down to the bar during break?" Mole asked. The question had the emphasis of a thought that had been rattling round a mind for a while. "I asked round, and apparently you're out all the time on the riverbank, so you're normally quite social."

 _You've asked round about me?_ Rat wanted to ask. He ignored the thought and instead took a draught from the mug, pretending to mull the question over. Yes, that was definitely Mrs Otter's coffee skills. "It's a little bit crowded in the bar," he answered eventually. _As well as underground_ , but he remembered just in time that he was talking to an underground animal. "Plus, previous experience has shown that if you put Toad and me in the same room, tempers tend to get… frayed."

"Yes, I had noticed that you shout at him a lot during rehearsals."

"That's cause he never sticks to his damn place!" Rat complained. "We have the marker points for a reason – I can't keep shifting the lights every time he decides to mix things up a bit! And don't even get me started on the ad-libbing–"

Mole patiently did not remind Rat that he had empirically not got him started on the ad-libbing.

"–how am I meant to know when the sound cues are if he keeps adding more lines? It's bad enough when he's on stage, but to listen to him talk off stage you'd think he was carrying the whole show single-handedly!"

"Well, he is the Major General," Mole offered.

"He has one song that everyone knows, and that's really about it. You're on stage more often than he is."

Mole was silent for a moment. "I hadn't thought about that."

"Well you should keep it in mind next time he regales you with his triumph as Ko-Ko from last year's Mikado." There was a pause in which Rat became quite aware that he'd just gone off on a rant. "Anyway, that's the other reason I don't mingle often during rehearsals." He shook his head and attempted to wrangle the conversation onto more pleasant waters. "Here, why don't I show you how some of the soundboard works?"

"Really?"

"Of course. Just don't let Badger know, otherwise he'll never let you escape. An animal that can sing, act, and help with the tech? You'd be worth your weight in gold."

"I wouldn't be _so_ sure about the acting," Mole said. "I've never really done professional theatre work before." He paused and then added, "The last time I was on stage was for my school play. We did Jack and the Beanstalk."

"Oh, really? And what part did you have?"

"I was a bean."

Rat snorted.

"It's not funny!" Mole cried indignantly, slapping at Rat's shoulder.

"It is a little bit."

"Well, yes, but you didn't have to laugh," Mole huffed.

"I'm sorry. I'm sure you made an excellent bean."

"I was a model actor. I never missed a single line."

Rat hesitated. "Is that because–"

"Yes, it's because I didn't have any lines to miss," Mole admitted, "but no one has to know that."

"Scouts' honour, the secret stays with me." They lapsed back into comfortable silence, watching the stage as Toad's fake moustache went flying off for the third time that scene. Eventually, Rat couldn't keep himself from asking, "Did you tell Badger that when you auditioned? The thing about never missing a line?"

Mole squirmed. "Maybe." He glanced uneasily to Rat. "Why? You're not going to tell him, are you?"

"Of course not. I promised, didn't I?"

"Then what is that look for?"

"I'm just… reappraising you, that's all."

"Reappraising me as what?"

"I just took you for a shy and retiring animal at first, and I'm only now realising you have a sneaky side."

Mole's posture took on a defensive slant. "Well I'm sorry to disappoint–"

"Oh, I'm not disappointed; I'm impressed. Anyway," Rat added before Mole could have a chance to worry why such a thing could be deemed impressive, "are you getting paid for this role?"

"No, but I don't see–"

"Then it's not professional. It's only a profession if someone is paying you for it, and what we have going on here is full amateur dramatics." He considered Toad. "In several ways."

"It _feels_ rather professional."

"That's just Badger's perfectionism showing."

Suddenly, Rat became aware of an abrupt silence that had fallen over the stage. He glanced up, worried he had missed a light prompt, just as Badger bellowed, " _For oh, they cannot bear to see their father weep!_ Where's Mole? We are missing a Frederic!"

Mole leapt up from his seat. "Oh! That's my cue!" He leant over the soundboard and, before Rat could stop him, waved from the tech booth. "Sorry! I'll be there in a moment!"

Badger looked up, located the wayward principal – and then the tech animal beside the aforementioned principal.

Rat sank into his chair. "Well," he croaked. "I'm in trouble."

"Why would you be in trouble? I'm the one who's missed his cue."

"Just go before Badger decides to hunt us both down for sport."

"Right, right."

It was only later that Rat realised he had completely forgotten to teach Mole how to use the soundboard.

Oh well.

There was always next time.

And the next.

And the next.

And somehow, with no fuss or pomp and circumstance, it became the new norm, to the point that Rat became quite surprised if Mole didn't appear in the tech booth in the fleeting moments between his scenes. Usually with coffee in hand – a skill he was slowly developing; it was now recognisable as coffee at least – and the room that had once felt too small for two animals now felt strangely empty with only one.

"It's kinda lonely being a principal," Mole said during the dress rehearsal. There was an unexpected melancholy hanging over the tech booth, quite at odds with the frisson of adrenaline pulsing through the rest of the theatre as the reality of opening night the following day dawned upon them. Rat had thought he had been projecting his own feelings until Mole's comment.

"How so?" he asked. He tried not to think about how lonely the shows were going to be with Mole grounded backstage instead of sneaking up to the tech booth. Badger had tolerated it during rehearsals so long as Mole arrived (mostly) on cue, but there was no chance he would condone him leaving backstage in full costume while a show was in progress.

"The chorus all have each other," Mole said, "but my scenes are at such odd times I don't really get the chance to talk to anyone."

"Aren't most of your scenes with Portia?" Rat asked, recalling what he could of Mole's off-stage time.

"Yes, but she's on the make-up team so she's constantly in demand. Anyway, she always has treats on her and if I ate everything she offered I'd never fit into my costume by opening night, let alone come the final performance."

Rat grunted. "Kids and their metabolisms. It's wasted on the young."

Mole made a snuffling sound that Rat took a moment to identify as beneath-breath laughter. The moment passed, and they sat in silence while Toad monopolised the stage as the Major General. Mole idly swung his feet from the chair that was still a little too tall for him, his claws just brushing the floor, before suddenly saying, "I joined this society to make friends, but if I'd known how isolating the principals roles were, I'd have asked to be in the chorus."

"They wouldn't have let you," Rat replied, only half-joking. "They struggle to find good leads every year; the moment they heard you sing they would have barred the door."

"I'm not really that good, not like Mr Toad or Mr Badger."

"Toad makes up for what he lacks in skill with swagger, and as for Badger, well, he has plenty of years' experience under his belt," Rat said. "I wouldn't worry with comparing yourself to either of them."

"I suppose you're right."

One look at his new friend's face, and Rat suspect that Mole had managed to take entirely the wrong message from his reply. He grumbled something and ran a paw through the hackles along his neck. "What I mean is you've got a different style to them so there's no use in trying to mimic them."

"I have a style?"

"Sure you do."

"What is it?"

Rat thought for a moment. "Sincerity," he decided. A heartbeat passed. "Anyway," he added briskly, "you've already made one friend here, so I wouldn't call it a failure just yet."

There was a pause, and Rat suddenly wondered if he had severely misjudged their interactions. Maybe their talks had merely been a placeholder; a temporary salve to ease the loneliness until permanent companionship appeared.

But then Mole grinned and Rat's nerves cooled. "I suppose I have."

"Good." Still, that little niggling seed of doubt wouldn't leave. He glanced at Mole. "Just to be sure, we're talking about me, right?"

Mole laughed, and with a rush of surprised affection Rat realised the sound had become as familiar as his own. "Yes, Ratty," Mole said. "We are."


End file.
